


Three for Dinner

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Multi, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi





	Three for Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreezingRayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/gifts).



When Claire asked Rachel to lunch, for advice, she didn’t expect it to become a habit. Of course, Rachel is now coming to understand that expecting anything is not a good idea when it comes to Claire. Claire’s married now, and yet he still swings by the Daily Days to drag her off to lunch, or dinner, or a bookstore. Rachel isn’t sure how Claire always knows when she’s there, she still spends as much time on the rails as she does reporting in on the stories she’s collected. But somehow Claire knows. He asks how her trip was and always knows where she’s been. Rachel was concerned by this at first, but he is the Rail Tracer and perhaps some habits die hard. This is a habit Rachel figures she’s okay with. Claire is a strange man by any stretch of the imagination. A sociopath by some, or perhaps just crazy. However he’s the most charismatic, and sane, crazy person Rachel has ever met. And he is right about almost everything. One of the things he’s not quite as good at understanding is other people. In specific his new wife. Rachel could have supposed that after their first conversation, living with the woman might teach Claire something, but it seems like it hasn’t.

Rachel finds herself aghast, intrigued, plain surprised, and amused by Claire’s anecdotes. Knife fights in the kitchen over who’s going to cook the pasta, an ever-growing collection of gift-dresses, and inquiries as to Rachel’s opinion on the prime location for throwing knives on a corset. Rachel measures each question with dignity, thinking carefully to tell Claire as much as she can. Because, the thing is, he really wants to know. He actually cares no matter how strange or improper the question.

After a few years, when their lunch dates have become scheduled occurrence and Rachel’s work schedule functions more around Claire than around train departures -and how did that happen?- Rachel starts to wonder if she’ll ever meet the young Mrs. Stanfield. Rachel feels like she already knows her. The way her hair falls. The way her eyes convey her words. The curve of her neck and how beautiful she looks in a white dress. Claire has impressed all these things upon Rachel’s mind till the mystery image of the woman is almost as much of an obsession as understanding the enigma of the Rail Tracer was before she met Claire over a fork full of pasta. She starts looking, surreptitiously, turning at the passing of a woman in a white dress. But no, her hair is blonde and her face too sweet. Or dark hair on a black clad figure slipping into shadows, but it’s a boy not a beautiful woman. She dreams at night of the shadowy figure of a woman fighting on a train. The woman’s movements are graceful: the flash of a knife in the dark and her eyes luminescent gold. The train rumbles and sways beneath Rachel and the two rush on into the dark. Rachel wakes breathing hard and wishing for sleep again.

When Claire asks Rachel to come visit them Rachel is surprised. She shouldn’t be surprised by Claire. Nothing is beyond him. But the thought of entering their world, a place that the mysterious Chane and Claire might live is a surreal thought. Before Rachel can give the invitation due consideration she blurts,  
“Why?”  
“Because I think you’d like Chane, I talk about her so much, you two should meet. You’re very similar in some ways.” Claire’s smile is friendly but Rachel knows him well enough to see the edge to the invitation. Rachel wonders if somehow Claire knows. Knows like he knows the trains she rides and the places she’s been. But Rachel looks at him; his red hair catching the spring sunshine and the answer no is gone from her mind. Claire’s smile in response contains honest delight. Rachel knows however crazy she is, she’s made the right choice.

She meets Claire at the train station a few days later. After all their lunches together, and their casual friendship, Rachel isn’t sure what to wear. Somehow military fatigues seem too much like work. A dress would be too formal and strange. Claire would probably laugh if he saw her wearing one. Her only suit is a black one for funerals. Rachel finally decides to wear her black pants with a slightly nicer shirt, one she’d wear properly going on a train, rather than hitching a ride. It’s only after she catches sight of Claire at the station that she thinks perhaps the dark red cloth is too much like his hair. Well, she can’t very well change now. Claire bounds over to her with all his usual enthusiasm and Rachel tries to hide her smile. The man can be such a boy sometimes. He takes her hand, threading it through is arm to steer them in the direction of a waiting car.

Rachel doesn’t often ride in cars. They’re fairly expensive, and between the train and on foot she can get wherever she wants. Claire’s driving is only vaguely frightening and Rachel relaxes against the window. Her nerves are returning by the time they pull up in front of a modest brownstone. It’s not the house she would have pictured. Rachel’s not sure she could have pictured Claire living anywhere, though she can imagine his years at the circus after so many stories. Claire waves the keys at her and leads the way up the steps. Claire lets them into the flat. Rachel is immediately enveloped by the smell of cooking. It’s meaty and rich with the undertone of green vegetables.  
“Chane has been teaching herself how to cook!” Claire announces. “Chane, we’re home!” There’s no response but Rachel knows not to expect one. Then, a woman’s face peers around a door. She enters the room gracefully. Her hair is short and dark, her eyes an intense gold, her skin is so pale she seems to glow in the warm light. She’s wearing a white dress. It’s a simple dress and at the same time exceedingly elegant for that. It’s pure and clean and she looks like someone’s virginal bride. Which she very much is not, from the stories Claire tells her. All the same, Rachel cannot shake the image from her mind. It’s something about the tentative way Chane holds her hands together, the speculative tilt of her head as her eyes pour over Rachel.

Rachel tries not to quail under the look. She’s dodged bullets, accosted thieves, and befriended the Rail Tracer. And yet, she’s not sure what to make of Chane’s expression. Rachel thinks she suddenly understands Claire a lot better. Then Chane turns her eyes to Claire and Rachel receives all the evidence she’s ever needed that Claire is an idiot. That is what unadulterated love and admiration look like. Claire’s return expression is also blindsiding. Rachel has never truly seen him smile then, not like that. There’s no sound of voices in the room but Rachel is sure they’re talking. Maybe murmuring sweet nothings or divulging the secrets of the universe. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful, it’s secret, and it’s the most loving conversation Rachel has ever not-heard. Suddenly Rachel wishes she hadn’t accepted the invitation to dinner. She’s intruding already and they haven’t started eating. But then Claire’s turning to her, and Chane with him.  
“Rachel, we’d like to welcome you to our house. Chane is very pleased to meet you.” Chane extended her had as Claire spoke. “We hope you’re still willing to stay and eat?” Rachel blinks,  
“Uh, nice to meet you too. Yes, if you’ll have me.” Chane’s smile is possibly the loveliest thing Rachel has ever seen.  
“Of course! Well, then lets eat. I’m starving.” Claire runs off into what Rachel assumes is the kitchen. Rachel is left staring at Chane unsure how to proceed. Chane’s hand is soft against her own and Rachel quickly lets go of it.  
“Knife calluses?” she asks gesturing to the ridge on Chane’s finger. Chane nodds. With a flick of her wrist there is a knife in her hand she flips it and throws it, a fluid motion. It twangs into the doorway beside Rachel’s head.

Rachel stands very still as Chane crosses past her to pull it from the wood. There are two other nicks each at even spacing from each other, with the new one just below.  
“That’s really impressive” Rachel offers. Chane silently replaces the dagger in the sheath of her sleeve, but her expression is pleased.  
She places two fingers against Rachel’s arm, pushing in the direction of another room. Rachel follows. It’s a small dining room, a table barely big enough for three people with the clear addition of a third chair. Rachel figures the odd-upholstery-out is her spot and sits down. Chane takes the chair opposite, unfolding her napkin from around her fork and knife and spreading it on her lap. Rachel follows suit as Claire brings in the food. The meal is delicious. Rachel isn’t much of a cook herself, but she always appreciates good food. When she compliments Chane, the other woman smiles almost as if surprised. Claire’s expression is proud. Rachel makes small talk about her own lack of cooking abilities and they chat idly through the meal. It’s somewhat stilted. Rachel usually has such an easy rapport with Claire, but Chane’s presence obviously changes the topics of choice. Chane’s silence isn’t irritating, but Rachel isn’t quite sure how to act, how to include her silence in the conversation. It feels rude to just talk to Claire but it’s hard to communicate with someone who can’t respond. Claire’s bringing out desert when he looks between the two of them and his face goes surprised.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” He says. He drops the desert on the table and rushes off. Chane looks as confused as Rachel feels. Her expression brightens when Claire returns with a pen and paper.  
“I forget other people don’t know Chane like I do. I’m sorry I kept you from talking.” Chane’s widening eyes tell Rachel that she hadn’t thought of it either. How hard must it be, conditioned to living where you expect not to interact with other. Not to be able to tell your story, to ever be listened to. Rachel suddenly feels very sorry for Chane. But Chane has Claire, and the moment their fingers brush as he hands over the pad of paper Rachel knows Chane will never need her pity.  
I am happy to meet you. Claire speaks of you often. Chane writes.  
“Really, I could say the same. I’ve actually really been looking forward to meeting you, after all I’ve heard from him.”  
Is that true?  
“Uh, yes. You’re just like he described.” Rachel says feeling awkward and looking at Claire, who’s smiling at them, pleased with himself.  
“So, what do you do? Claire’s never told me. Are you in the same business?”  
In a way. We work together on occasion. Mostly I stay here. Do you still ride trains?  
“Yeah, I love them. I’m not sure I could ever stop traveling. It’s only once I started working at the Daily Days that I even started returning somewhere.”  
It is nice to have a home.  
“Yeah.”

Chane’s eyes are warm, her posture contented. She eats daintily at her slice of cake and writes with graceful penmanship each thoughtful question and response. Rachel almost forgets about Claire, wrapped up in her strange conversation with Chane. She knows so much and so little about this woman. Finally partway through a story about a non-Rail Tracer related railway murder, Claire interrupts them.  
“It’s very late.” Looking out the window, Rachel sees that it’s true. The lights are bright inside but the street is dark.  
“It’s been lovely to meet you,” Rachel stands, holding out her hand to Chane. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”  
“If you don’t have anywhere to be you could stay here. It’d be safer than going home alone at this time of night.” Claire says. Rachel looks at him hard, he knows she can take care of herself…and the tone of his not-question.  
“Thank you for the offer, but-” Chane’s hand on her arm stops her.  
“Chane doesn’t mind if you stay.” Claire says and his smile is a smirk. Rachel looks back to Chane who nods her affirmation.  
“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude, you don’t have all that much space.” Rachel gestures to the additional chair, the Spartan utility of most of the flat.  
“True, but it’s not so much the space as the company.” Claire points out. Rachel can’t deny this is possibly the most interesting company possible.  
“I suppose then, if it’s not a bother. I’d like to talk more and I suppose you have a couch somewhere I could stay?s” Claire claps his hands as if it’s finalized deal.  
“Wonderful, I have some coffee, if you’d like any.” Rachel declines but Chane nods. Claire disappears back into the kitchen and Chane guides Rachel through the flat. It turns out the couch is more of a love seat. They all wind up sitting on the floor, each refusing to sit in the chair until the other does, guest and host.

Chane rests with her knees drawn up to her chest, scribbling notes before handing them to either Claire or Rachel. The Claire Chane brings out isn’t one Rachel’s ever met before. He’s sharper, more dangerous, more like the Rail Tracer and less like the baffled boy Rachel met over lunch. Both parts are still there, but their conversation turns darker. Rachel has her own horror stories and can play just as well as either of them. Claire’s ideas are often on the boarder of insanity, but Rachel enjoys the philosophical bent of the conversation. Chane has a surprising amount to say on free will and immortality, but Rachel knows there are things in her past Claire hasn’t told her. Rachel wants to find out. The more they talk the more she wants to know both of them. Still it is late, and Chane’s writing is getting sloppier. She lists against Claire’s side, leaning her head against his shoulder and smiling sleepily at Rachel.  
“I should let you two go to bed,” Rachel says at last. She stretches her arms out arching her back so it pops, shifting her spine back to place. She looks over to find them both watching her intently.  
“What?”  
“Chane and I were wondering.” Claire says and his voice is low, not the whisper of the Rail Tracer, but darker than she’s ever heard before. “If you’d like to join us?” Rachel is thrown off for a moment, unable to read the meaning in the words. Then Claire leans down, holding her eyes as he seals his lips against Chane’s. Chane leans up against him arching into the kiss. When the break apart, Chane rolls her head on Claire’s shoulder, her eyes coming to catch Rachel’s. She extends a hand. Rachel is frozen. More than anything in the world she wants to go to them. They are both so beautiful, strange, and perfect together.  
“But I…” Rachel’s words fade as Chane’s slim fingers caress her hand, drawing her inexorably forward.

Rachel is not surprised there’s only one bed in the flat. Neither Chane or Claire are much for propriety. Rachel watches dry mouthed as Chane efficiently strips, pausing only a moment for Claire’s help with the buttons up the back of her dress. The steady movement of his hands unveiling the skin of her back is possibly the most erotic thing Rachel has seen in her life. Then Chane spends a few minutes carefully laying out her sheathes and knives on the night stand, completely naked. Claire’s rumble of approval startles Rachel out of her avid stare. He’s standing beside her half clothed, holding his pants up in one hand and equally admiring the view. Chane turns to watch them with amusement and Rachel hurries to not be the last one fully clothed.

Chane waits sitting on the bed as the two of them remove the rest of their clothing. Feeling exposed, Rachel hovers uncertain between moving towards Chane or Claire. Claire solves the problem by pulling her toward the bed. Rachel sits next to Chane studying her face for any sign of direction. Chane’s smile is sweet when she leans up to kiss Rachel. Rachel had never realized the woman was shorter. Even without words, Chane’s presence can fill the room, enough so not to be drowned out by Claire, a hard task for anyone. Chane’s tongue is warm and wet against her own and Claire’s hand hot against her back. Rachel isn’t sure where to turn but perhaps she doesn’t need to worry. She can’t help grinning a little when Chane pulls back, resting against Claire’s chest. They both look so pleased with her, happy, it’s hard not to be flattered under that warm regard.  
“I haven’t done this sort of thing before, but I’m a fast learner.” Rachel says quietly. She might as well put all her cards on the table. Chane nods, and wrap her arms around Rachel’s waist. She pulls Rachel closer so Claire can kiss her. Claire’s kiss is as hot as his hand. He’s fierce against her lips and Rachel can’t help gasping. Her back arches and she feels Chane’s hitch of breath as their bodies slide against one another. Claire eases them down against the bed, Chane and Rachel’s arms still tangled together. Rachel breathes in the smell of Chane’s hair. She laughs at the feel of Claire’s hands against her feet. The touch becomes firmer, sliding up her legs. She gasps at the sudden feel of Claire’s tongue over the scar from the bullet she took the Flying Pussyfoot. Chane sits up beside her, studying Rachel’s face intently. Chane’s breasts are beautiful and Rachel leans up to lick a swipe across one. Chane’s shoulders shake briefly. Then Claire’s hands are at her waist, pulling against her, and the three of them are pressed together in the next moment. Rachel almost looses track, Claire’s hot hands and Chane’s smooth as silk cascading over her. She watches them, watches them watching her. It’s the most amazing thing Rachel has ever seen. The darkness in the room is beginning to lighten when Chane’s fingernails claw against her back and Claire pistons up inside Rachel’s body. His guttural moan and Rachel’s breathy sob drown out Chane’s quiet gasping. Rachel doesn’t stay up late much anymore, but perhaps there are good reasons to be awake for the sunrise. However, she’s far to exhausted to do much but card her fingers through Chane’s hair where Chane’s head is pillowed between her breasts. Claire is snuggled in beside her. His fingers just touch Chane’s hip across her body. Held between the two of them Rachel has never felt so warm.


End file.
